


Until Time Runs Out

by WeaglesAndBrobeans



Series: A Very Capitals Collection [8]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF, NHL - Fandom, Washington Capitals - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Heartache, Mentioned Alexander Ovexhkin, Mentioned Michael Latta, Mentioned Mike Green, NHL, Nicky is a good papa, No real closure, Sexual Content, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeaglesAndBrobeans/pseuds/WeaglesAndBrobeans
Summary: For a few moments he forgot. Laying in Tom’s arms, held tightly he felt anchored. But there’s something about a high that makes the crash back to reality all the more agonizing.Andre Burakovsky knows a trade is coming. He also knows that a trade could very well be the end of so much more than just his stint with DC’s hockey team.





	Until Time Runs Out

For a few moments he forgot. Laying in Tom’s arms, held tightly he felt anchored. But there’s something about a high that makes the crash back to reality all the more agonizing.

So as he returned to himself, the warmth of Tom’s chest and the light strokes of his toes against Andre’s calf- for once they were anything but assuring. Rather they streamlined the Swede towards the despair that had been nagging at him for months.

The hopelessness clawed up his throat and before he knew it a sob wracked his frame.

“Babe?” Tom voiced. He’d tensed around Andre as soon as the shuttering breaths began. “What’s going on Andre?”

But Andre didn’t have the capacity to voice his fears. A small whimper escaped his lips and rather than pulling himself together to voice his pain he hunched in on himself, pulling a fist to his mouth to bite down. The sharp pain did little to distract from the emotions storming within his chest.

“Fuck, Burky no. No baby. You’re okay,” Tom whispered, lips brushing Andre’s ear. “You’re okay.”

Strong, capable hands wrapped around Andre’s frame and tugged him so he was facing the broad Canadian. Andre didn’t hesitate to curl into Tom’s chest and let his tears pool against his neck and shoulder.

 

 

“ _Andre I want you. Okay? And I need you to be honest here because this is fucking terrifying but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t just man up and tell you and I’m this close to shitting myself because I’ve never felt this way before but I really think you’re worth it-“ Tom never got to finish his monologue because the curly haired winger was lunging into his arms and shutting him up with a desperate kiss._

_“Fuck you Tom,” he murmured before pressing back in._

 

 

Andre’s sobs began to choke him as fear and grief swelled within. He’d been pushing this off for so long, but apparently that doesn’t sort the way he’d hope it would.

Tom’s massive hands smoothed over his back, pulling firmly in an effort to ground Andre as he cracked apart.

They hadn’t done this. They laughed and wrestled and mocked one another but they hardly fought. Oshie once described their relationship as comparable to one of Lyla’s drawings on his fridge - sun too big, rainbow too bright, smiles on all the stick figures.

Even the fear of being outed, the stealth it took to love fully yet quietly, hadn’t rocked the boat.

From the moment Tom had confessed, the two hadn’t really made space for fear and life hadn’t really forced sadness upon them either. Nine months after they’d fallen for one another they won the Stanley Cup. Not even hockey had given them cause for tears.

Yet here they were clinging to each other like a lifeline. The thought of Tom as a support sent Andre spiraling further.

“I don’t want to go Tom. I can’t do this. I can’t do this without you.”

Tom stilled. “You- did they... Andre did they... they didn’t did they?”

Another whimper escaped.

“No, but they’re going to Tom. They’re fucking going to. And I can’t, I can’t stop it. I’m not enough. Nothing I do is working. This isn’t working and I can’t do this Tom. I can’t do this.”

Tom raked his fingers through Andre’s curls and pulled their foreheads together.

“Andre Burakovsky you’ve always been enough.”

 

 

_“I didn’t teach you to fight so you would actually fight,” Tom grumbled as he gently pulled the plastic bag from Andre’s knuckles. What had once been ice now sloshed as mostly water._

_“You saw the push as clear as I did, but I was close enough to hear Snarles hit the wall. You didn’t teach me to fight for nothing either.”_

_Andre’s argument held up, but it didn’t ease the tension in Tom’s chest._

_“It’s shit like this,” Tom griped as he gestured towards the swollen knuckles. They’d already begun to darken from the way they’d cracked against chin and helmet._

_A laugh of disbelief bubbled within the Swede._

_“You’re fucking kidding me right? Have you even iced yet?”_

_Tom glanced at his own torn knuckles from the beat down he’d given Coleman. The punk may have had a shot against Burky, but he’d had his world rocked when he’d turned on the 6’4 Toronto native._

_“Okay you got me there." Tom grinned slyly at his boyfriend. "I think even Cherry would be proud of how you handled it. You know he loves a good bout in defense of a teammate.”_

 

 

His tears may have dried, but his gut still clinched with heartache. A wave of rage swept in and it vaguely crossed his mind that he should go kick box today to blow off some steam.

Despite the troubled energy buzzing between his shoulders and bouncing in his head, a deep exhaustion still pulled at him. Crying does that. Andre hates crying.

Sagging against Tom’s chest, Andre’s mind began to wander. It didn’t travel anywhere pleasant.

 

 

_“Did you and Latts ever?” Andre blurted one morning after an hour of sex. It was his favorite way to start an off day. And maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about Michael Latta with Tom’s cum drying on the small of his back, but he’s never really been one to control his mouth._

_“Really Burky?” Tom replied nonplussed. “Right now? This is what you’re thinking about right now?”_

_The Swede giggled and shifted so he could see Tom’s face._

_“Oh come on Willy. I wanna know! The entire world thought you did,” he chirped enthused. “Besides. I deserve to know. Don’t you think?”_

_Tom stared for a few beats before sighing._

_“Yeah. We did.” The way he bit his lip and stared past Andre’s shoulder stilled the moment. Andre’s eyes sobered and he settled a warm palm on Tom’s cheek._

_“I think I could’ve loved him,” Tom admitted. “It kind of felt like a flare. So bright but gone so quick. I miss him yeah, but we just couldn’t. We couldn’t with him a sea away.”_

 

 

Tom deserves better. That’s all that Andre could believe. Nicky and Ovi weren’t together but it’s the principle of the thing and Tom deserves a Nicky. Someone that’s gonna be there. Someone good enough to stay.

He voiced as much and Tom let out a choked whimper.

“Burky no. It could just as easily be me. I’m not promised this forever. I could wake up with a notice to pack my bags and fly to Dallas. We don’t know. You’re not, you’re not letting me down okay? We both know how unpredictable this is.”

He shouldn’t play the comparison game. He really shouldn’t. But it slipped out anyways.

“You have a contract Willy. Six years.”

For the first time that morning Tom pulled away. He pushed himself up and flung his feet to the ground before burying his face in his hands.

“I don’t know what to say Andre. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

 

 

_Andre was sloppy drunk. He was way past any sense of self-consciousness. Dancing like wasted bros had long since passed and now he was straight up grinding against Tom’s side._

_“I think- I think I’m gonna keep you,” he slurred. Batting his thick eyelashes at the taller man he did his best to leer, but he kept blinking and twitching._

_“You’re the best fucking man I’ve ever had the fucking pleasure of fucking.”_

_Tom choked on his beer._

_“Okay, I think we’re done here buddy,” he soothed as he directed the fumbling forward towards the exit._

_Gesturing towards the young man who had wrapped himself around his waist, Tom called to the few boys still nursing beers in the back booth._

_“Burky’s done. Gotta get him home before he breaks something!”_

_In the back of the taxi Andre slipped until his head was in Tom’s lap. Unfortunately that put the highly intoxicated Swede in close proximity to Tom’s hardening dick._

_“Oh Willy,” Andre whispered before petting at his crotch. “That for me?”_

_Tom squirmed and grabbed Andre’s wandering hands._

_“Wait,” he hissed. He barely managed to keep Andre subdued, but they finally reached the hotel and Tom gladly dragged him out of the car and towards the elevators._

_Not fifteen minutes later Andre looked up from where he knelt mouthing at Tom’s throbbing dick and grinned. “I think I’m gonna keep you.”_

 

 

Neither had spoken a word to one another since Tom had quietly dressed, grabbed his coat, and excused himself from Andre’s apartment.

It took Andre an hour and a half before he’d pulled himself from bed and did his best to move forward. He’d jogged, showered, and forced himself to finish off a protein shake.

But now as he sat on his couch, staring at a photo from the day they’d won it all his hands began to tremble.

Tom had locked eyes with Andre, Lord Stanley in his grip. They were world champions and Tom only had eyes for Andre, there was no one else he would’ve thought to hand that cup off to.

He’d felt invincible that day. Today he felt shattered.

Andre cocooned into a nest of blankets before pulling out his phone. It rang once, twice, then a thick Swedish accent filtered through the speaker.

“Andre?”

“When you know it can’t last do you cut it off or do you hold on until time runs out?”

Nicklas Backstrom sighed. “I’ll be there in twenty.” He hung up.

In exactly 19 minutes the doorbell rang and the blonde center appeared on Andre’s porch with a six pack of beer and the ultimate dad face.

The two settled back into Andre’s cocoon, Nicky against the arm of the sofa and Andre leaning back against his chest with a beer in hand.

With a deep breath Nicky dove in.

“Did I ever talk to you about Greeny?”

 

  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m in this down space right now. Which means my boys don’t get happy endings either. 🤷🏼♀️


End file.
